TO » v v 

FRENCH'S ACTING EDITION. No. 2377. ~? 



POT LUCK 






GERTRUDE ROBINS 




Sixpence. 

AMATEUR FEE, HALF A GUINEA EACH REPRESENTATION. 



POT-LUCK 



Concerning "POT-LUCK " 

A Farcial Fact in One Act by 

GERTRUDE ROBINS 

Produced by the Buckinghamshire Players at Naphill 
1910 

Under the patronage of 

HIS WORSHIP THE MAYOR, AND THE MAYORESS OF 
HIGH WYCOMBE, Lord Desborough, The Earl of 
Buckinghamshire, Lady Dashwood, G. K. Chesterton, 
Esq., Walter Crane, Esq., R.W.S., Coningsby Disraeli, 
Esq., D.L., J. P., Miss Dove, M.A., J. T. Grein, Esq., Jerome 
K. Jerome, Esq., A. Lazenby Liberty, Esq., D.L., J.P.> 
John Masefield, Sir Philip F. Rose, D.L., J. P., Lionel 
de Rothschild, Esq., M.P., Clement K. Shorter, Esq., 
Fredk. Whelen, Esq., Arnold White, Esq. (" Vanoc") 

" New and original — the thrill of "the evening." — Daily Mail. 

" ' Pot-Luck ' is rich and round and racy of the soil." — Morning Leader. 

" Pure fun from start to finish." — Standard. 

" The simple farcical story proved immensely entertaining ; the little touch 
of rustic pathos was particularly striking." — Star. 

" Interesting all the time ; capitally done." — Daily News. 

" ' Pot Luck,' one of the best of English comedies, is a bright little slice of rural 
life, and full of raciness and fun, and genuine Buckinghamshire in every line." — 
Daily Chronicle. 

" A striking success. The audience rocked with laughter as the players rolled 
out the rich humour of their parts." — Daily Express. 

" A true picture of village life. The Greek or Elizabethan dramas were not 
finer than this play ; the people in it talk realities." — G. K. Chesterton in the 
Westminster Gazette. 

" Gives a glow of brightness to life." — Evening News. 

" After much wild farce it ends happily on a delicate note of sentiment." — 
Observer. 

" Greatly helping the cause of laughter by its old-world quaintness." — Vanity 
Fair. 

" A poaching incident, in which the humours of the situation are realized, and 
the verities embodied in the phrase ; ' Honesty is the best policy ' well estab- 
lished." — Daily Sketch. 

" There was never a better play than ' Pot Luck,' for it tells a tale with a point 
that might happen any day among English peasants." — G. K. Chesterton in 
The Daily News. 

" Unintermittent rollicking fun, with an air of rural realism." — South Bucks 
Standard. 

" Deftly constructed, admirably written and received with unbounded 
enthusiasm." — Throne. 

" A farcical tit-bit of rural life." — The Lady, 

"Delightful and racy of the soil."— Quern. 

" Remarkable for its sincerity and earnestness — might have come from the 
fertile brain of the author of the ' Pattes de Mouche.' "—Morning Post. 

" A bright little sketch of quaint humour — a ' slice of life.' " — R e f e ^ ee - 

" Brimful of interest and amusement and singularly entertaining.' — South 
Bucks Free Press. 

" A delicious sample of Buckinghamshire language — sparkiigly spontaneous. 
The charm of it all lay in its novelty." — L. Godfrey Turner in Vanity Fair. 



POT-LUCK 



By 

GERTRUDE ROBINS 



Copyright, 191 i, by Samuel French, Limited 



New York London 

SAMUEL FRENCH | SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd 

Publisher j 26 Southampton Street 

a 8-30 WEST 3 8th STREET I STRAND 






©Cl.D 23236 



DRAM. PERS. 

William Jenkins . Burly Chairmaker and Poacher, aged 50. 

Alice Jenkins . His wife, aged 35, fair, florid and cheerful. 

Sergeant Bristow . . . , 

[■ Typical Rural Potict 
P.C. Birch . . . . ' 



POT-LUCK 

Scene, — The Buckinghamshire Village of Naphill. 
Time. — The Present. 

The Jenkins' kitchen. Stove in open fireplace back of 
stage. Door to scullery l. Window back r. Door 
to bedroom up R. Chest of drawers down R. Cup- 
board up l. Table c. Usual details of old-fashioned 
cottage interior. A few chair-backs in fireplace 
corner. 

Mrs. Jenkins discovered by fire r. making pillow-lace'. 
She wears a large white apron and her hair in curlers. 
Door opens and Jenkins puts his head round 
cautiously. 

Jenkins (hoarsely), Sst ! Sst ! ! Be you alone, 
Alius ? Eh ? Nobody there ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. No, it's all roight. What's the 
matter ? 

Jenkins (entering). I gotter foine brace o' burds. 
Oncommon foine they be. Jest you look 'ere. 
Wait till I show ye. (Holds up a sack from which he 
cautiously extricates a brace of pheasants.) Look, 'ere 
they be. They be all roight, I tal ye. 

Mrs. Jenkins. My word, William, ain't they 
foine ! Wherever did you get they from ? 

Jenkins. Down the larch wood, back o' our field. 
They was both up a tree together, settin' on the same 
branch. And they was so faat, they didn't make 
no attempt fer ter floi. They jest rolled off as 
though they be droonk when I took a shot at 'em. 



8 POT-LUCK. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, Will, you did orter to be more 
keerful ! Why, they'd be 'earing yer gun up at the 
farm. 

Jenkins. Oo ! Goo long with ye, me gal ! That 
be orl roight. Whoi, theer wer a whole lot o' jantle- 
men from London a-shootin' in the copse t'other soide 
of the presarve, and nobody couldn't tal which be 
moi gun shot and which be their 'n. 

Mrs. Jenkins. I 'ope nobody see'd ye bringing on 
'em 'ome loike that. 

Jenkins. Corse not. The chaps be all at work. 
No one didn't see me, I promise you. 'Sides, if they 
did, what's the odds ? 'Ow weer they to know what 
I got in me bag. Whoi, I might 'a bin bringing 'ome 
some toppings for the pig. 

Mrs. Jenkins. You makes me that narvous, I 
dursen't 'ardly look the pleeceman in the face. 

Jenkins. You 'aven't got no call for to neither. 
What next ! 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, leave off with ye ! What be 
ye goin' to do with they burds ? 

Jenkins. Oh, I'll take 'em down town to-morrow. 
Bailey, 'e can do with 'em, I make no doubt. 

Mrs. Jenkins. I do 'ope you won't be 'eld up on 
the road. 

Jenkins. An' wot's the odds if I be ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, 'ow can you say that ? You 
don't want ter be foined — ter 'ave ter pay no ten 
pounds, loike Stevens did. 

, Jenkins. Oh, Stevens ! 'E's a silly .'ole beggar, 
that's what he be. Whoi, do you know what oi'd do 
if they was to stop me on the road ? Oi'd just tiggle 
Kit tie with the end of me whip, jest one little touch, 
ever so loight, and she'd go ahead loike steam, and 
Oi'd loike to see the bloke as 'ud catch up with 'er. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh la ! What a one you be, to 
be sure. Well, Oi must be gettin' me dinner on. 

Jenkins. Good-noight ! What , aren't ye got the 
dinner on yet ? And Oi be that 'ungry, I tal ye. 



POT-LUCK. 9 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, well, it won't be long a-cook- 
in\ Not above 'alf 'our. (Gets up to put away her 
pillow. Glances out of window and shrieks.)' 

Jenkins. 'Ullo ! What's oop ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. The Sergeant, William; it's the 
Sergeant and the Policeman with 'im comin' up to- 
wards our gate. Whatever be we goin' to do'? 

Jenkins. Good-noight ! (Looking over her shoul- 
der.) So they be ! Oh dear, oh lor ! Where can we 
'ide they burds ? (Snatches birds and moves toward- 
cupboard.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. Not in the cupboard. 

Jenkins. No. They'll goo there first of all. 

Mrs. Jenkins (seizing birds) . Shall us put un m 
the bed, under the pillers ? 

Jenkins. No. That's a silly idea. (Taking birds.) 
'Ave Oi toime to get into the shed ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. They'd see ye cross the yard. 

Jenkins (scratching his head). Well, they'll fair 
cop me now, I make no doubt. If I was only ter 
get out o' this, I'd never goo for another burd, that I 
wouldn't. I fair 'ates the soight on 'em. (Flings 
birds from him on to table.) 'Ere, if I put un m'.the 
sack, couldn't you sit on 'em, and 'ide 'em that waf ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. Don't be ser stoopid ! >Jow 
listen ! If Oi get ye oiit of this you won't do ho 
more poaching ? 

Jenkins. No. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Promise ? ' * 

Jenkins. Roight. But what be yer ,eom' ter -do ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. Never you moind. (Glancing at 
window.) Oil, dear ! They be up the 1 path now. 
'Ere! Let's 'ave 'em. (Snatches birds '-'an! sack.) 
You be gettin' on with yer work. 
(Exits into scullery. Left alone, Jenkins yuts on 

apron, sits by fire, takes glasspaper from shzlf, ch'.nr 

backs from floor, and begins polishing. Loud knock 

heard off at outer door. Mrs. Jenkins heard talking 
to men. She ushers them in from scullery to kitchen.) 



10 POT-LUCK. 

ftlRS. Jenkins (entering, followed by Sergeant 
'•Bristow and P.C. Birch). 'Ere, William, the Ser- 
geant ter see you. (Poking fire.) 

Jenkins (without looking up) . Oh ! 

Sergeant (to Mrs. Jenkins, who is about to leave 
kitchen). You stay 'ere, please. 

Mrs. Jenkins. I suppose I can get me saucepans 
on thetoire. can't Oi ? Oi'm all behind with dinner 
as it is. ' 

Sergeant. Birch, keep an eye on her. 

(Birch salutes and stands at doorway. Sergeant 
Bristow takes out notebook and makes entries. Mrs. 
Jenkins reappears from scullery with saucepan, 
which she places on stove and returns to scullery. 

Birch moves after her) 

Mrs. Jenkins (off). 'Ere, Mister, you moight jest 
cop 'old this one, whoile Oi takes the kettle. 

(Enter Mrs. Jenkins with kettle, followed by Birch 
staggering under weight of big saucepan which he 
nearly puts on table.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh ! Not on the table, silly • 
'Ere. Roight on the foire. That's it. Thank you. 

Sergeant (from notebook). Now then, Jenkins. 
From certain information received, half an hour ago 
you were seen coming up the larch wood carrying fire- 
arms and a brace of pheasants which you were putting 
into a sack. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Well I never ! 

Jenkins. Oh, wor Oi ! 

Sergeant. Now, it's my duty to warn you that 
anything you say now may be used against you. At 
11.45 you were seen 

Jenkins (to himself). Wonder '00 it was. I didn't 
see' nobody,. ' 

Skrgeant. That's not your business. The wit- 
ness -is prepared to swear. 

Jenkins, I don't 'old with swearing, I don't. 



POT-LUCK. 1 1 

Sergeant. Now then, we've had you under 
suspicion for months. 

Jenkins. O pray ! Oi be sorry to 'ave taken oop 
such a lot o' your toime. 

Sergeant. No nonsense, now, I've got a search 
warrant. (Producing it.) 

Jenkins. Oo, 'ave yer ? 

Mrs. Jenkins (attempts to take warrant). Let!s 
ave a look. 

Sergeant (motions her aside and reads) : — " To 
each and all of the Constables of Naphill. Informa- 
tion on Oath has this day been laid before me. That 
the following goods, to wit, Pheasants, have lately 
been feloniously stolen, taken, and carried away out 
of the preserves, and that the informer hath probable 
cause to suspect, and doth suspect, that the said 
goods, or some part thereof, are concealed in the house 
of William Jenkins. You are hereby authorized and 
commanded, with proper assistance (nodding towards 
P.C. Birch), to enter the said house of the said William 
Jenkins in the Daytime " 

Jenkins. Good-noight ! 

Sergeant. ■■ ' —and there diligently search for the 
said goods, and if the same be found upon such search, 
that you bring the goods so found, and also the Body 
of the said William Jenkins, before the Court." 

Mrs. Jenkins (alarmed). The body. Wot's 'e 
mean, Will? 

Jenkins. Oh, I suppose they be goin' to 'ang me 
now. 

Sergeant. Now then ! Where are those pheas- 
ants ? 

Jenkins. Oh, they pheasants ! 

Sergeant. Yes, "they pheasants." Where are 
they? 

Jenkins (scratching his head). I wunner what in 
the nation Oi done with 'em. 

Sergeant. We shan't leave you wondering very 
long. 



12 POT-LUCK. 

Jenkins. Oh ! you won't leave me wunnering 
very long, won't you ? Oi'm glad o' that, because 
oncertainty always upsets me. 

Sergeant. It will be better for you to tell at once 
where to find those birds. '' 

Jenkins. Wal, ter tal ye the truth, if you was ter 
give me the price o' three 'alf pints o' beer, I Couldn't 
tal ye, so there ! 

Sergeant. All right, my man. (To Birch.) 
Stay here and keep them both under observation, 
whilst I make a search. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oi could make a few observations ! 
But there, Oi'd best get on with me work. (Resumes 
lace-making.) 

Birch (saluting). Very good, sir. 

Sergeant. Now, for the last time, Jenkins, are 
you going to tell me where those birds are, or must I 
look for them ? 

Jenkins. Just as you chuse. 

Sergeant. Very well. I suppose this is the 
bedroom ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. I'm afraid you won't foind it 
very toidy, sir. I always does it of an afternoon. 

(Sergeant goes into bedroom.) ,, 

Jenkins. What a froightful worrit 'e be ! 

Birch. Why don't you tell where they are, and 
save trouble ? 

Jenkins. Cos I dunno, that's why. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Really, Mister, you did oughter 
take my 'usband's word for it. 'E ain't one to tell 
lies, William ain't. 'E don't know anything about 
they burds, I'll lay 'e don't.. 

Birch. Well, we gotter do our dooty. 

Jenkins. Rummy sort o' duty, marchin' into a 
party's bedroom oninvoited. 

Birch. Well, I can tell you, the Sergeant ain't one 
to stand any nonsense, so you'd best be careful. 

Jenkins. Oh! And why, pray ? 



P6T-LUCK. 13 

Birch. Because his evidence will make a lot of 
difference to you, one way or the other. 

Jenkins. Oh, yes. 

Mrs. Jenkins. 'Ow ? 

Birch. Why, at the Assizes, Aylesbury, next 
month. 

Mrs. Jenkins. 'Ere; 'arf a minute, Mister, give 
us a chance ! 

Birch. Like as not you'll get fined ten pound or 
three months 'ard. They're very sharp there. 

Jenkins. Yus, I know ; they're all jantlemen on 
the bench. With 'undreds of acres, every one on 
'em, just for their own amusement. 

Birch. And what if they have ? You ain't got 
no right for to steal their pheasants. 

Jenkins. Pheasants ! Pheasants ! Whoi I 'ates 
the soight on 'em. 
Birch. They cost no end o' money. ) 

Jenkins. I know what they costs. Ten shilling 
a piece be the toime they paid for the keeperin' and 
that, and any poor chap what picks up a burd or two 
that's met with an haccident, they charges 'im ten 
pound a brace, or three months. (Noise of boxes, etc., 
thrown about in bedroom.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh dear, oh dear, jest 'ark at 'im. 
There won't be nothin' left in its place. I believe 
'e's a-rummagin' through everything. 

Birch. Can't be 'elped, marm. Dooty's dooty. 
(More noise.) 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, Oi can't stand this no longer. 
I must see what 'e be up to. (Goes towards door as 
Sergeant returns.) 

Sergeant (to Birch). Theyre not in there. Now 
we must do this room. (Looks under cushions on 
chair.) 

Mrs. Jenkins (who has been standing looking into 
bedroom horrified, screams, rushes- into bedroom, and 
returns holding bedraggled hat, trimmed with pheasant 
feathers. Confronting Sergeant). Look what you 



14 POT-LUCK. 

done with my 'at ! My best Sunday 'at ! Look at 
it ! Wot yer mean by it f (Re-arranging hat.) I. 
shan't be able to wear it to-noight at the chapel tea, I 
shan't ! (Half crying.) Oh you, you 

Sergeant. I can't help it. I thought it was one 
of the pheasants a-top of the cupboard. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Well, you don't know much then, 
if you don't know the difference between a pheasant 
and a 'at. Look at it, Will ! And you should just 
see what a state the room be in too. Everything 
upside down. 

Jenkins (to Sergeant). Wot 'a ye been a-doin' 
in there ? 

Sergeant. Executing my duty. 

Jenkins. We be 'earing a lot about dooty this 
marning. 1 shall make it my dooty to show the 
Inspector that 'at, and claim for a new one. Then 
'ow are we goin' along ? 

Sergeant. Well, it's your own fault. You've 
only got yourself to blame. If you'd told me where 
the birds were, it would have saved my time and your 
wife's hat. 

Jenkins. You call yourself a sergeant ! Call 
yourself a sergeant ! ! And not know any better than 
fer to muddle up a woman's 'at and make 'ay of 'er 
things. I tal ye, next toime I goes to town, I shall 
goo straight to the station and report yer. You ain't 
got no business fer to go about in people's 'ouses 
a-spoilin' o' their clothes. And you can just pay for 
'em too. 

Sergeant. Now then, I can't stay here all day. 
Come on, where are those pheasants ? 

Jenkins. I tole you afore, and I tals you agen, I 
don't know. 

Sergeant. All right. You'll be sorry for this, 
my man. (To Birch). Constable, you go all round 
the walls, look in the cupboard, and see if there are 
any loose boards on the floor. Oh, and don't forget 
to look up the chimney. I'll search these drawers. 



POT-LUCK. J 5 

Birch. Very good, sir. (He looks in cupboard.) 

Jenkins. Whoi, 3^011 ain't looked atop o' that 
shelf. Fancy you overlookin' that ! 

Sergeant. Examine it, constable. 

Birch (stands on tip-toe, and feeling along shelf, pulls 
it down with contents). They're not there, sir. 

Sergeant. Then look somewhere till you find 
them. 

Jenkins. Yes, Birch, you go on. Look some- 
where till you foind 'em. 

(Birch taps round walls, then crawls on floor tapping 
with his truncheon for a loose board. Sergeant 
throws out contents of drawers on floor.) 

Jenkins (shouting loudly while police made noisy 
■ search). Goo on, goo on do. I'll have a noice report 
to make the Inspector. (Sergeant knocks over vase.) 
I'll have a tidy claim agin yer for damages. Goo on, 
don't you moind me, smash a few more things, any- 
thing you takes a fancy to. (Pointing to flower-pot.) 
Yew ain't looked in that flower-pot. That 'ud be a 
foine place to grow pheasants in. (Inspector picks 
up water -jug, and in doing so spills water.) Why you 
bain't lookin' for goldfish, be you ? I thought it was 
burds you was after. 

Sergeant (to Birch, who is looking up chimney). 
Anything to report, constable ? (Birch emerges with 
black face, and shakes his head in reply). 

Jenkins (laughing and slapping Birch on back). 
Lor luv a duck ! You do look a noice article to be 
sure ! (Roars with laughter.) I say, you 'aven't looked 
in the shed. Whoi, Oi could 'ide twenty score o' 
burds in there, and you wouldn't foind one of 'em. 
You goo and 'ave a real good 'unt out there. 

Birch (to Sergeant). Shall I go, sir ? 

Sergeant. Yes, make a thorough search, and 
report to me as soon as you can. 

Jenkins (to Birch busy putting back his truncheon). 
That's roight. You make a thorough search',- don't 



16 POT-LUCK. 

you miss anything. Oh, and when you clone the 
shed, go and 'ave a turn at the garden. You'll foind 
the fork outside. They burds moight 'a buried their - 
selves. I'd be glad for to 'ave it turned up. The 
land's very clungy after the rain. And heavy too. 

(Birch exits. Sergeant tries to move heavy chest.) 

Jenkins. Oh, don't strain yerself, Sergeant ' 
Shall Oi land ye a 'and? 

Sergeant. You shut up. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, don't go fer to lose yer temper, 
prayi Mister Sergeant. 

Jenkins. No. It's me what onghter lose me 
temper if it comes to that. But I ain't. I be jest 
amusing meself, and adding up me little bill for 
damages and moral injury. 

Sergeant. Moral injury ! Pah ! 

Jenkins. Yes, that's wot Oi said. Moral injury ! 
Look at moi woife. She ain't 'arf done fret tin' over 
that 'at p.' 'ers. I shan't 'ear the last of it for weeks ! 

Sergeant (referring again to notebook). Ah ! I 
haven't done the scullery yet. 

Jenkins (in stage whisper to Mrs. Jenkins), 
..Oh la ! (Aloud.) Oh, I shouldn't bother about the 
scullery, Sergeant. You can see there ain't nothing 
there. Besides, that's ser draughty ! 

Sergeant. Ah ! You don't want me to search 
there, then ! I got you now. 

Jenkins. Oh, it's all the same to me. Only we 
ain't got such a many vases and whatnots there. 
There ain't no 'ats there neither. 

(Sergeant exits and heard off clattering pails, etc.) 

Jenkins (in a whisper). I say, 'e'll foind 'em now, 
won't e ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. No. They're all roight. 

Jenkins (loudly to Sergeant outside). I say, Ser- 
geant. There's our pig bucket just outside the door. 
It's been standing there since Midsummer, so it'll be 



POT-LUCK. 17 

a bit 'oigh. Same as the gentry loikes their burds. 

Sergeant (off). Birch, get a stick, and see if there' 
anything in that pail. 

Birch (off). Roight,sir. Phew! Oh lor, oh lor! 

Jenkins. Oi thart 'e'd foind it a bit 'oigh ! (Ser- 
geant returns.) 

Jenkins. What, no luck ! Arn't you found 
narthing ? 

Sergeant. Birch ! 

Birch (enters begrimed). Yes, sir (trying to get rid 
of dirt from clothes.) 

Sergeant. Well ? Don't stand rubbing your- 
self. Have you nothing to report ? 

Birch. No, sir. Not a feather. 

Sergeant. Sure ? Certain ? Positive ? 

Birch. Yes, sir. If I might be so bold, sir, I'm 
of opinion we've been misinformed this time, sir. 
Now I come to think of it — er 

Sergeant. What ? 

Birch. When Stevens informed us 

Jenkins (jumping up). So it wor Stevens, wor it ? 
Old Johnnie Stevens ! The beggarin' ole rawscal ! 
Oi'll inform 'im of something, that Oi will. So you'd 
rather take the word of an ole loier like 'im than me ! 
And 'e's been 'ad up afore the bench and foined 
many a t crime* 

Mrs. Jenkins. Ugly old villain ! Why 'e's fair 
j alius o' Will, 'e is, 'cos Will can get along and earn 
an honest living with the chair-tops, and won't goo 
lung with 'im after burds o' noights. 

Jenkins. You'd be spendin' yower toime to 
better account if you was to keep an oi on 'im instead 
o' comin' 'ere and a-turnin' moi 'ouse upside down. 
Oi'll goo and see Stevens directly Oi 'ad a bit o' dinner, 
thatOi will. Oi'll push 'is hugly old face in. Oi've 
owed 'im a 'idin- for a long toime. 

Sergeant. You'll do nothing of the sort, my man. 
We've had enough trouble with you already. I shall 
hold you responsible for any breach of the peace. 



18 POT-LUCK. 

Jenkins. Oh, thank yew. 

Sergeant. If you'll take my advice, you'll let this 
be a warning to you. Ready, Birch. 

Jenkins. Whoi, you ain't a-goin' just yet, are ye ? 
What's yer 'urry ? Stop an' 'ave a boite with us. 
(To Mrs. Jenkins.) What 'ave we got fer dinner, 
Alius ? (Mrs. Jenkins shakes her head warningly 
at him.) Eh ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. Pot-luck ! 

Jenkins. That's all roight ! You won't moind 
that, will ye, Sergeant ? 

Sergeant. No, thanks. (To Birch.) Ready? 

Jenkins. Oh, all roight then. We can't afford to 
be so particular. (Sergeant and P. C. go to door) 
Well, good marning to ye. Pleasant journey. Oi 
won't ferget my little bill for the Inspector. 

(Exeunt Sergeant and P.C.) 

Jenkins (with loud sigh of relief). Thank goodness 
that's over. 

Mrs. Jenkins (proceeds to lav table for dinner). 
Yes. 

Jenkins. But whatever did you do with 'un, 
Alius ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. Never you moind. 

Jenkins. Well, you fair bested me, that you 'ave. 
You bested me, and you bested Birch, and you bested 
the Sergeant, and you bested the 'ole lot on us proper. 
You be a rare clever woman, Alius, that you be. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Yes, and you very noigh upset the 
ole applecart, you did. 

Jenkins. Me ? 'Ow ? When did Oi ? 

Mrs. Jenkins. That don't matter now. Come 
to yer dinner. (Glancing at disturbed furniture.) 
Lor, what a job I'll 'ave to get straight after they men, 
it's as bad as a Spring clean. 

Jenkins. That'll be all roight. I'll lend you a 
'and. 



POT-LUCK. 19 

Mrs. Jenkins. But Oi don't moind, so long as you 
keep yer promise. 

Jenkins (scratching his head). Ah ! 

Mrs. Jenkins (pointing at him). Yes, William! 
You promised me that if I got you off, you wouldn't 
go after no burds again — never no more. Think, 
William, what it moight 'avebeen, with you in prison 
for three months ! Now, you bain't going back on 
your word, be you, Will ? 

Jenkins. No, me gal, Oi'll keep me promise fair, 
that Oi will. 

Mrs. Jenkins. Ah ! You makes me feel 'appier 
than ever since the day I married you. 

Jenkins. You be a funny ole wench, Alius ! 
There now ! (Kisses her.) (Coaxingly) Now tal me 
what you done wi' 'em. 

Mrs. Jenkins. You sit down to your dinner. 
(Ladles potatoes out of saucepan on to plates.) 

Jenkins (sitting at table). Well, it beats me 'ow 
you done it. 

Mrs. Jenkins (who has taken large dish and fork 
from dresser stands over stove. From big saucepan she 
takes two steaming pheasants, and turns round holding 
them up). 'Ere you be, Will. You'll 'ave to spit 
out the feather. It was the best I could do — Pot Luck, 



Curtain. 



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